Defy the World Tomatoes (34 page)

She could smell Vaughn’s bloody corpse, and it would become an indelible memory. “I don’t care what the ‘Le Swat’ team leader says. I’m never going to forget this.”

“No one expects you to.” He placed a kiss in her palm and folded her fingers over it. “But you mustn’t tell anyone you visited this house, nor met Lyman Vaughn. In his obituary in the French newspapers, he’ll be referred to by the alias Simon Jordan and described as an internationally known financier.”

“Will they also report that he fell from the roof?”

“No, I imagine there will be a discreet reference to health issues and suicide.”

Fluent in English, Lucien nodded in agreement. Unconcerned with gathering evidence at the crime scene, he shoved the Glock into his belt, removed his helmet to wipe his shaved head with a handkerchief, then replaced it.

He continued to observe Darcy with a suspicious gaze, but if this were his idea of a timely rescue, she definitely thought he needed a new watch. “You’re worth a dozen of him, you know,” she whispered to Griffin.

“Thank you, but I must have your word on this. You’re not to tell Christy Joy, nor your parents, nor, God forbid, write a tell-all book about this and give an interview on the Today Show. I’m sure you can understand why.”

“Of course, the freedom of the civilized world depends on my keeping quiet, so you can tell Lucien here he won’t have to take me around back and shoot me.”

“Darcy! None of us would ever harm you, but Vaughn has associates who kill for sport, and you don’t want to be on their radar.”

“What about you?”

“No one will know I visited this estate either. I’ll readily admit to being in Paris this week, and the register at the Hotel Meurice will prove we stayed there. It was a brief pleasure trip, nothing more.”

“And what about Astrid? She ought to have a funeral, and who else will give her one?”

Griffin turned to Lucien. “What do you know of Astrid’s mother? Will she claim the body?”

The Frenchman replied in heavily accented English, “No, she was a French cabaret singer, regrettably without much talent, who perished in a traffic accident when her daughter was five. She and Vaughn were never wed, and Astrid was schooled at a convent near here. She did not live with her father until she fell ill last year.”

“But they seemed so close,” Darcy protested.

“He visited her from time to time,” Lucien added. “They were not strangers.”

“Perhaps not, but still
—
”

Griffin squeezed her hands. “Vaughn was a consummate performer, and we saw what he wished us to see.”

“Well, you can bury him in the garden if you like, but I want a real funeral for Astrid, and a grave in a nice cemetery with an angel on the headstone. Perhaps the convent could arrange it.”

Griffin looked up at their companion. “Will you contact the Mother Superior and make such a request? She should know which mortuary to call.”

“I will see to it personally. Gather up your belongings. We will take you to the Meurice and let you know when and where the funeral is to be held.”

“Wait a minute,” Darcy asked. “What about all the others
—
Antoine, the nurse, the butler and housekeeper, and the chef, who was supposed to let us out of the pantry? What’s happened to them?”

Lucien’s wide mouth crimped in a brief smile. “They left here little more than an hour ago. We intercepted their van. They have been detained and for just cause, I assure you. They have all been involved in Vaughn’s crimes.”

“I doubt the nurse was in on any arms deals,” Darcy argued.

Lucien shot Griffin a warning glance, and the pianist was the one to reply. “Don’t worry so, she’ll not be sent to Siberia, but it wouldn’t be to her advantage to admit that she’d been in Vaughn’s employ. Another job will be found for her, and a respectable one this time.”

Darcy had one last question. “What’s happened to the beautiful Adriana? Why wasn’t she here?”

Anxious to finish his work, Lucien shuffled his feet. “From what we have observed, Vaughn kept his daughter separate from his mistresses. But you need not worry that Adriana will seek you out to avenge his death. She was arrested last night in a sting operation in Zurich which led her to believe she would be collecting a payment for stolen weapons.”

Griffin rose and pulled Darcy to her feet. “There, that’s enough. Come on, let’s pack up, go to the hotel and finally get some sleep.”

“We can’t leave Astrid here with strangers,” she responded sadly.

After the night they’d had, Griffin did not feel up to arguing. “Lucien, will you please contact the Mother Superior immediately? Apologize for waking her, but when you explain Astrid has died, she should forgive the lateness of the hour and provide the necessary information. The doctor’s name will be on Astrid’s medications. Contact him to sign the death certificate.”

Lucien nodded stiffly and left them to complete the calls.

“We’ll stay until the mortician arrives,” Griffin assured Darcy, “but I’ve got to clean up and get ready to go. I don’t want you sitting here within sight of Vaughn’s carcass. Come upstairs with me.”

“No, please, I’ll sit closer to the piano where I did earlier and wait with Astrid here.”

“I won’t be long,” he promised and hurried out of the room.

Darcy sat in the comfortable upholstered chair and rested her head against the back. She heard Lucien talking with his men and, after taking a few quick photographs, they zipped Vaughn into a body bag and carried him out of the house. A few minutes later, two of the men returned with sponges, a mop and pail and began cleaning up the mess.

Darcy covered a wide yawn and closed her eyes, but the hideous images that greeted her kept her wide awake. Griffin soon appeared wearing Levi’s and a black sweater. He paused to kiss the top of her head and then went to the piano and began a piece she instantly recognized as his.

She’d regarded his other composition as melancholy, but this one was even darker in mood, and far more intricate and intense. It sounded as though he’d written it while being ravaged by some horrendous loss. Spellbound, she listened with such rapt attention she failed to notice the men who had stormed the house had gathered in the foyer. When Griffin struck the final chord, they broke into respectful applause, but she had to hold back tears.

“You didn’t care for that piece?” he asked her.

“What’s it called, ‘The Garden of Doom’?”

“I’ve not titled it yet, but I like that. Would you mind if I used it?”

“Not at all, but I hate to think of your being that unhappy.”

“I’m all right now that you’re speaking to me again.”

Thinking the impromptu concert over, the men continued their search of the dwelling and, alone with Griffin, Darcy left her chair and crossed to the piano. “If that’s the type of music I inspire, then we ought to go our separate ways before your career suffers irrevocable harm.”

“Impossible. Besides, it’s important for a composer to have both range and depth.” He patted the bench. “Sit here beside me while I play something for Astrid.”

Still unnerved, Darcy sank beside him, but her spirits rose when she recognized Chopin’s Polonaise. It was a thrill to watch Griffin’s graceful touch upon the keys, and the music flowed as though the notes leaped to meet his fingertips. Seated so close, she was surrounded by the beautiful melody, but that his own music was so desperately sad still disturbed her.

The first time she’d seen him on the path at Defy the World, she’d suspected he might have a melancholy bent. Then he’d flashed a smile that had made it impossible to think at all. She feared her thought processes were still muddled.

She drew in a deep breath and tried to float on the beauty of the music. Later, she moved back to the comfortable chair, and he was playing one of Chopin’s sweet nocturnes when two white-suited men arrived in a hearse.

Griffin left the piano to greet them, while Darcy stood at the foot of the hospital bed grateful all evidence of Lyman Vaughn’s death had been so skillfully erased.

“Griffin, please tell them not to remove the CD from Astrid’s hands. We should have looked for her clothes. Do you suppose she has any nice things here?”

“I doubt it if she’d been sick for a year, but we’ll buy her something new.” He took the morticians’ card so they would know where to have the clothing delivered, and then insisted that Darcy come upstairs with him to pack rather than watch them take Astrid away.

She held his hand tightly as they climbed the stairs. She’d been frantic with worry when they’d arrived at the chateau, and now she felt completely drained. “Thank you,” she murmured softly, “for being the man you are.”

Griffin tried to take that as a compliment, but he was not entirely convinced that it was.

The Hotel Meurice was located on the Rue de Rivoli. Beautifully restored with fine replicas of the original furnishings and decor, it was described by guide books as among the city’s grandest hotels. Darcy didn’t even want to know the cost of Griffin’s spectacular suite overlooking the Jardin des Tuileries when it was so far above anything she would ever be able to afford on her own.

Her jaw dropped when she saw the baby grand piano. “Do all the suites have pianos?” she asked.

“No, but I stay here because they have this one for me.”

Darcy gazed out at the garden below, and beyond it, she glimpsed the Siene. “You’re a bigger celebrity here in Europe than at home, aren’t you?”

Griffin came up behind her and rested his hands upon her shoulders. “Well, let’s just say the Europeans have a longer tradition of classical music and therefore a more enthusiastic appreciation for classical musicians.”

“That’s very diplomatic of you.”

“How else can I be?” He began to knead her shoulders gently. “I could play ‘Great Balls of Fire’ and you’d swear it was Jerry Lee Lewis banging on the piano. Would you like that better?”

Darcy dipped her head to encourage his touch. “I’d really love to hear that, but rather than outrage the hotel, better wait until you get home.”

Griffin wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tight. “I’m sorry everything turned out so badly. I don’t know how I could have been so stupid as to think Lyman Vaughn would allow me drop you off here before I met him.”

“You are never stupid,” she scolded. “Perhaps no one could have successfully predicted what he might do.”

“Thank you for being so forgiving, but it was a colossal blunder that could have cost you your life. I’m still furious with myself
—
that’s why I played ‘The Garden of Doom’
—
but I didn’t mean to depress you.”

Darcy turned in his arms. “We’re both here, in what has to be one of the world’s most beautiful hotels. I know I’ll cry all the way through Astrid’s funeral, but for now, please, let’s not be maudlin.”

Griffin kissed her deeply rather than agree, but he’d been shaken clear to the marrow by how narrowly they’d escaped death that night, and not merely once, but twice. Darcy had been the best of partners, but what woman would remain with a man who exposed her to that level of risk?

One who loved him, perhaps, but he doubted even Paris with all its magic would be enough to help him win her heart.

Chapter Nineteen

Griffin gave Darcy a last brief kiss, then stepped back. “Are you hungry? I could call room service to send up some breakfast.”

“The sun’s not even up yet.” She paused to cover a wide yawn. “Besides, I didn’t sleep more than ten minutes at the chateau, and I know you didn’t sleep either. Can’t we just go to bed?”

“If you like.” He moved into the suite’s bedroom, ripped off the heavy brocade spread and dumped it on the floor at the foot of the bed. Then he peeled away the blanket.

Darcy followed him into the bedroom in time to see him shuck off his clothes and toss them onto a gilded chair. Still wearing his sexy silk boxers, he climbed into the king-size bed. He punched the pillow, stretched out and looked ready to sleep the day away.

She thought he’d probably expected more from her, but she had absolutely nothing left to give. At least he hadn’t sneered openly at her lack of interest in him, but then he always behaved as a gentleman should even if he had to grit his teeth while doing so.

Clearly he had incredible self-control, which probably had a lot to do with his success. On the other hand, she felt about as secure as a bit of dandelion fluff and was in real danger of flying apart in the next breeze.

She went into the bathroom which was all mirrors and pale marble streaked with gold. The towels were a pale cream, and there were two cream-colored French terry cloth robes waiting for them on brass hooks behind the door. She ran a bath, poured in plenty of scented bath salts and tossed in her pink lingerie to soak while she bathed.

She felt like a princess surrounded by such opulence, but then she imagined most women who dated Griffin must feel like Cinderella. She relaxed in the tub until the water cooled to tepid. She used the fancy hand-held showerhead to wash her hair before she left the tub and thought she just might be relaxed enough to sleep all day too.

She didn’t want to sleep nude, though, and pulled on a lavender nightgown that was more lace than silk. She no longer recalled where she’d bought the sinfully soft garment, but this was the perfect place to try it out. She slipped into bed beside Griffin and envied him the ease with which he’d fallen asleep.

She gazed up at the beautiful plasterwork on the high ceiling and tried to shut out all thought save those of sleep. But each time she closed her eyes, the gunshot roared in her ears and the terrifying blood-drenched scene flashed in her mind. Tears began to spill over her lashes and drip down onto her pillow. She turned away and used both hands to muffle her sobs rather than disturb Griffin.

He still felt her tremble and rose slightly. “Hey, everything’s all right now.”

He turned toward her, drew her back against his chest and curved his whole body around hers. He searched his mind for a comforting phrase, a line from a beloved poem, a scrap from memory, but he came up empty. All he could do was rock her gently and blame himself for bringing her along on the worst trip of his life.

When Darcy finally cried herself to sleep, he continued to cradle her in his arms while he dozed on the edge of sleep. She didn’t stir until afternoon, and he came fully awake the instant she sat up.

“Feel better?” he asked.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t sleep well on the plane, and by the time I get used to the time change, it will be time to go home. Could we go out into the Tuileries garden? I doubt we’ll find a Zen garden in the park, but there should be benches.”

“Sounds great, but I have to call room service and order something to eat while we dress, or I’ll faint before we get downstairs. Don’t tell me you’re not hungry either.”

She wasn’t, but it had been so long since they’d eaten, she knew she should be. “Nothing too fancy, please, maybe just a turkey sandwich and iced tea. Would they make it on a croissant, or do the French only eat them for breakfast?”

“Who cares what they prefer? They’re paid to prepare whatever their guests request.” Griffin grabbed for the telephone without leaving the bed, and Darcy went in to use the bathroom first. When she came out wearing her denim skirt and chambray shirt, the young man from room service was just closing the door. Griffin walked by in his Levi’s eating a piece of cheese.

“If you can wait a couple of minutes to eat, let’s take everything down to the garden,” he suggested and swung the bathroom door closed.

Their food had been delivered in an elegant gold box, and Darcy opened it to find turkey sandwiches on buttery soft croissants, a selection of cheeses and gorgeous fruit tarts. She used the plastic knife to slice off the curved end of a sandwich and carried it over to the window to enjoy the view while she ate. Paris was such a lovely city, and she absolutely refused to allow Lyman Vaughn to ruin it for her. She was embarrassed to have cried so hard she’d bothered Griffin and told him so when he joined her.

“Don’t be silly,” he cajoled. “If it weren’t so damn unmanly, I would have wept myself. Lucien called to say the funeral’s set for tomorrow afternoon. The shops here are closed on Sunday, but the boutique in the hotel should be open, and we need to buy something for Astrid. Then let’s go down into the garden and pretend we came to Paris just to enjoy the sights.”

“And each other?” Darcy added coyly.

“Exactly.” He grabbed the gold box, and she carried the drink containers.

The shops in the hotel were expensive, but Griffin didn’t even check the price tag when Darcy spotted a pale pink dress trimmed in lace. He added a pink scarf to cover Astrid’s bandages, then asked to have their purchases delivered to the mortuary early the next morning.

As they exited the Meurice, Darcy had to make a conscious effort not to dwell on Astrid’s sad fate, but just as she’d hoped it would, the sight of the Jardin des Tuileries sent her spirits soaring.

The young families who frequented the garden on the weekends had already pushed their charges home in their strollers, but the wide paths were still crowded. Veering off toward the left, Griffin led the way to a shady bench beneath a chestnut tree.

“Will this do?” he asked.

“Perfect.” Darcy took a sip of tea. “The last time I was here, I didn’t even know there was such a thing as a landscape architect.”

“Eat,” Griffin insisted. “I don’t want you to waste away before we get home.”

“There’s very little danger of that,” she assured him, but the turkey sandwich was delicious, and she consumed another third of hers while Griffin finished all of his.

“I’ll bet you know who designed this garden,” he said. “Tell me about him.”

“I thought you wanted me to eat.”

“Tell me between bites.”

“All right, if you insist. André Le Notre was the royal gardener to Louis XIV, and he also designed the garden at Versailles. We have a beautiful view from the hotel, but from here you can see how the flowing patterns of the low boxwood hedges and flowers create a living tapestry. The trees lining the walkways were planted to provide shade and frame the magnificent view.

“In the seventeenth century, when this beautiful garden came into being, people believed as we do that walking was healthy exercise. I love the idea that a tree Le Notre planted has been enjoyed for generations.”

“Yes, that’s what I love about music. We can enjoy it long after the composer is gone. It’s very peaceful here, isn’t it?” Griffin reached for another piece of cheese.

“Isn’t this where they had the guillotine?” she asked.

He winced. “Actually, it was just outside the gates, but I’d hoped you’d overlook that portion of the Tuileries’ history.”

She patted his thigh. “It’s peaceful this afternoon, which is all that matters to us. I must have been a bird or squirrel in a previous life, because I love being outdoors. I’d shrivel up and die in one of Dilbert’s cubicles.”

“I always get a laugh out of Dilbert in the comics, and I’ve never worked in an office. In fact, I’ve never even had a job.”

“Never? Not even in high school? Oh, never mind, you didn’t attend high school, did you?”

“No, I spent my teens either practicing the piano or studying with tutors, so I missed the whole experience. But I’ve never met anyone who longed to repeat it.”

“Thanks for keeping the conversation light. I’m so grateful you’re not the type who just clams up and broods.”

Startled by that unexpected compliment, Griffin was appreciative nonetheless. “Well, thank you. Are you going to eat the last part of your sandwich?”

“Why don’t you finish it? I want to try one of these gorgeous little tarts.”

“You could be described in the same way, you know.”

She laughed with him and then nibbled the blackberry tart. The buttery crust broke away with gentle pressure, and the sweetened fruit was superb. “Oh, this is heavenly.”

“I love the way you lick your fingers.”

“I’m sorry, I know enough to use a napkin.” Darcy had two in her lap, so she really had no excuse.

“No, I mean it.” Having eaten the rest of the sandwich, Griffin took a bite of the strawberry tart and nodded his approval. “The French have raised baking to an art form, haven’t they?”

Darcy swallowed the last blackberry. “Yes, indeed. They do everything here with great flair.” Over his shoulder, she spied two handsomely dressed young men pointing their way.

“Fan alert,” she whispered. “There’s a couple closing in on us. It looks as though they’re working up the courage to ask for your autograph. Makes me appreciate how rock stars’ wives must feel.”

“I’m sorry, but at least I’ve never been mobbed like Sting. If they actually speak to me, I could tell them regardless of whom they believe me to be that they’re mistaken.”

“That would be dishonest,” Darcy warned, “and unworthy of you.”

“True.” Griffin reached for her waist, pulled her across his lap and kissed her soundly. “There, did that discourage them?”

Darcy smoothed the hair at his nape as she surveyed the curious pair. “No, both men look as though they’d like to line up for kisses themselves.”

“Let’s get out of here.” He set her on her feet, and she wrapped the leftover cheese in a napkin and shoved it into her purse before helping him toss their trash into a nearby container.

“Let’s just walk until we’re too tired to go any farther,” she suggested, and they set out to explore before the pair observing them could say
bon jour
.

Four hours later, they had toured the Latin Quarter to the level of exhaustion, and Griffin drew Darcy into a cafe on the Boulevard St. Michel. They chose a table in the rear where they were unlikely to be overheard and began with an appetizer of escargot.

“We used to order these every time we went out to dinner in Germany.” Darcy sopped up the garlic butter with a toast point then picked up the tiny fork to pluck another snail from its shell. “I’d forgotten how good they are.”

“You see, there are advantages to travel.” Griffin was having such a good time watching her eat, he’d consumed only two snails while she was on her fifth.

“Speaking of travel, whatever happened to your trip to Budapest?” she asked.

Becoming decidedly uncomfortable, Griffin shifted position before responding. “I hate to admit this, but I just plucked Budapest out of the air in an effort to inspire you to apply for a passport. If you’d really like to go there, I’ll arrange it.”

“You can do that, just flit around the globe whenever you choose?”

“It takes some planning to work around my concert schedule, but yes, I can. We can.”

Darcy wiped her hands on her napkin and sat back. “And if Interpol has another request?”

“They contacted me because Vaughn was a music lover. I doubt my particular talents will be needed again anytime soon.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“This operation was a nightmare, so let’s not argue about what I may or may not do in the distant future.”

“All right, but I’m sorry not to have been more help.”

Griffin reached across the table to catch her hand and gave her fingers a loving squeeze. “You saved my life, Darcy. I was running out of excuses to lure Vaughn away from Astrid, but I didn’t expect him to draw a gun. That was obviously poor planning on my part, but you not only drew his attention, you kicked his legs right out from under him. Then if you hadn’t yelled a warning, I’d be going home in a pine box. I ought to request a medal for you.”

“Don’t bother. If I can’t brag about how I won it, there’s no point in owning one.”

“True, but still you deserve one. Vaughn didn’t anticipate your being so damn fierce. Thank God, I did. That’s what I told you on the plane, wasn’t it? That I love your spirit most?”

“No, you fell asleep before you completed the thought.” She glanced toward a nearby couple who was leaning close to carry on an animated conversation in French. She couldn’t understand a word of their exchange, but their teasing smiles made it plain they were lovers. She took a sip of Perrier. “Won’t we have to give statements to someone?”

“No, Lucien handled it.” Griffin watched her attention wander around the dimly lit café. She’d suddenly become vitally interested in everything, it seemed, except him.

“I didn’t mean to spook you,” he apologized. “I’ll be patient. Maybe I’ll grow on you.”